


Dear Friend Of Mine

by Hana_Noiazei



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 1800s, Dennor Week 2020, F/F, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Period-Typical Homophobia, nordipalooza 2020, victorian au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:54:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24256225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hana_Noiazei/pseuds/Hana_Noiazei
Summary: Linnea is on the run from her feelings, but an accident at the pub she escapes to forces her to confront the emotions she has been hiding from for a long time.
Relationships: Denmark/Norway, Denmark/Norway (Hetalia), Female Denmark/Female Norway (Hetalia)
Kudos: 12
Collections: Nordipalooza 2020





	Dear Friend Of Mine

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for Nordipalooza 2020, with the prompts of Denmark and Norway, 1800s and "promises", as well as DenNor Week 2020 with the prompt "royalty". Fanon names are as follows:  
> Maren Oxenstierna - nyo!Denmark  
> Linnea Dahl - nyo!Norway  
> Sula Dahl - nyo!Iceland

A braver person might’ve shouted.

They might’ve thrown things around, screamed to the sky, let everyone around them know of their anguish. But Linnea has never been brave; she’s never been one to let people see past her indifferent mask; she’s nothing short of a coward. So she didn’t shout.

She ran.

There isn’t even anything to flee from, nothing but the image of the tearstained letter from her mother, informing her that her younger sister was trampled underfoot by a carriage last month and is barely hanging on to life; nothing but the nonchalance of the Countess when she gave her the letter, concern absent from her expression because it isn’t her little sister on the brink of death. But Linnea runs, shoes clicking against the rough cobblestone roads, to a shelter she cannot find.

The hem of her skirts are already soaked after a few moments of running, and she’s not even that far from the estate. She doesn’t know where she’s going, or what she’s going to do. There is no way she can go home; she doubts she has the courage to face her injured sister. Linnea presses her hat to her head and trudges on, unaware of the people milling around her.

After who-knows-how-long, she finds herself standing in front of a pub, filled to the brim with shouting drunkards and the sound of glasses clinking together. She slips inside, pulling her cloak tighter around herself, and tries not to gag at the putrid smell of sweat and regurgitation. After a few moments of pushing around the other customers, Linnea finds a small, unoccupied table at the corner of the pub and sits down there, shivering despite the heat. 

She is too tired to cry. Her feet ache from walking, and though the knowledge that her sister could be dead, and that she wouldn't know until - if - the Countess called her in and told her tears her apart inside, somehow she cannot find the energy to shed tears because of it. Drunken screeching fills her ears, makes her head ache, but Linnea's eyelids droop despite the ruckus, and she drifts off to a fitful sleep.

When she awakes, she is not alone. Next to her, squeezed haphazardly onto the seat, is a young woman dressed simply in a plain gown. Linnea rubs her eyes, preparing to deliver an icy retort, when she catches sight of the woman's face. The sparkling sapphire-blue eyes and elegantly-styled blonde hair are almost identical to the Countess'; this is surely her daughter sitting with her.

At the estate, though, Lady Maren is almost always dressed extravagantly, draped in jewels and bright, patterned fabrics. To see her in a commoner's clothes at the corner of a stinking pub is peculiar, to say the least. Linnea sits up a little straighter and shuffles deeper into her seat, praying that Maren doesn't see her.

Then Maren turns her head and looks right at her.

She flails for words, for an excuse as to why she was asleep in a pub when she should be in the library tidying shelves. But Maren speaks first. "You shouldn't fall asleep in places like this, you know. Many a savage has taken advantage of a sleeping lady."

Linnea knows the things that have happened to ladies in her position - theft, kidnapping, assault and much, much worse. Her hands fly to her pocket, her skirts. Maren laughs. "Nobody's done anything to you. I made sure of it." She holds up a thick wool blanket that is thankfully clean-looking. "Doesn't mean you can't go back to sleep, though. Look, I got you something."

Still saying nothing, Linnea can only stare apprehensively at Maren and the blanket she is offering. This could be trap, could be the Countess ordering her daughter to catch the estate librarian off-duty.

Maren laughs. "You'll be safe, I promise. My brother's right over there, see?" She points at a tall young man, neat golden hair poking out over the sea of intoxicated heads. "If I shout, he'll be here to protect us."

Cautiously, Linnea inches towards Maren, allows her to drape the blanket over her shoulders. It smells of cinnamon. Before she can thank her, Maren wraps an arm around her and pulls her flush against her side. Linnea's head rests against the crook of the Lady's neck, and she can smell her flowery perfume. It makes her dizzy. 

"Rest easy, Linnea," she hears Maren whisper. "I'll watch over you."

When she awakes for the second time, Linnea's shoulder aches, and she feels warm. As her eyes flutter open, she takes in the sight of Maren, who is still watching over her attentively. Her arm is still around her waist, firm and grounding. "Ah, our Sleeping Beauty is awake," she teases. "And it didn't even take a kiss."

She cannot know. They have exchanged many a conversation while Maren was tending to her studies in the library, and they have pored over books together, leaning in so close they could see the details of each other's faces, but she simply cannot know of Linnea's inclination. Linnea rubs her eyes and sits up, flexing her shoulders. The bar is still rowdy, but the young Lord Oxenstierna is nowhere to be seen.

"Berwald's gone home already," Maren supplies. "I told him I'd walk you home when you woke up."

The blanket falls off her shoulders as she sits up, still drowsy and placid from Maren's warm, welcoming embrace. "'m sorry," she mumbles, "I shouldn't have made you wait for me."

"Oh, no, dearie, I _wanted_ to wait for you." Maren folds the blanket neatly and helps her to her feet. "What kind of person would I be if I didn't help a fellow lady?" As they leave the pub, Maren's arm still protectively around her, she adds, "as long as my mother doesn't hear about this, all will be well."

The sky is dark outside, lit up by only a few lamps that illuminate the roads. Carriages rumble across the streets, the passengers inside safe and warm. A few beggars call out for spare change. They walk. 

After a few moments of silence, strolling past shopkeepers closing their stores, a few men scurrying home, Maren repeats, "my mother will hear nothing about tonight. Not about us going to the pub, or Berwald following us, or how you fell asleep." Her arm is still around Linnea's waist. "She won't hear about our..." she cannot find the words for it. "Yes."

"Our?"

"Yes, ours. My mother will be mystified as to why I grow up a spinster." She delicately steps over a puddle on the road. "Better for her to wonder than to know that I think of women."

The knowledge that she is not alone sends a wave of relief crashing through Linnea. But then she notices a police officer patrolling across the street, and she signals for Maren to stop right beneath a flickering street lamp. With a cautious glance at the officer, she leans in close and whispers, "what do you think would happen if a peeler caught us like this?"

"If a what?"

"A police officer. Do you think they would arrest us like they do the gents? Throw us before court, accuse us of sodomy, buggery and a hundred other terrible crimes; call us all sort of horrible names? Then, as a final blow, perhaps they would throw us into prison for years." 

Maren turns to face her, cups her cheek tenderly. It is as though she has not heard a thing Linnea said. "It's terribly unfair, but we are lucky compared to the gentlemen." Her thumb strokes Linnea's cheekbone, the gesture so sweet that her breath catches in her throat and her heart flutters. "If somebody were to catch me doing this, I could simply say that we are very close friends."

Linnea's face feels hot. "Friends," she repeats.

"Only the most intimate friends." Maren winks and pulls her hand away, resuming her hold around Linnea's waist. "And surely the police cannot accuse two ladies of being acquainted."

She cannot help laughing out loud, though she certainly will not be laughing if a police officer does get suspicious of them. Linnea makes sure that there are no other officers around before leaning in to Maren's embrace, feeling warm and giddy and perhaps a little in love.

When they reach the estate, Maren pulls her arm away, and though Linnea longs for her to hold her all the way until she has to return to her quarters, she knows that the Countess would throw a fit if she saw them so close. Maren has to enter through the main door, while Linnea goes indoors through the servant's one. At the gates, Maren smiles at her, lowering her voice so that the doormen don't hear her, "not a word about this will go to anyone. I promise."

Practically tingling from Maren's touch and wishing for some magical, impossible world where they could hold hands and maybe live together one day without people telling them that their love is terribly, terribly wrong, Linnea nods quietly. She can only reply with a quiet, "thank you."  
"For what?"  
"For taking care of me at the pub, and walking me home." She wants to kiss Maren, but surely there are people watching. "And... and for being a very good friend."

"My pleasure." Maren smiles, looking ever so beautiful even though her face is half-shrouded in darkness. Linnea's cheeks burn. "Goodnight, Linnea."

"Goodnight." Linnea slips into the manor, careful not to run into the housekeeper, and tries not to feel guilty over something that cannot be wrong.

...

The next time Maren manages to talk to Linnea personally is one week later, as she is rushing to pack all her belongings into her battered suitcase. Before any questions can be asked, Linnea supplies, while balancing two stacks of books, "your mother has let me take the rest of the month off to see my sister, which I have yet to believe is actually happening. But I've earned enough working here that I may not need to return at all." She lays the books in her suitcase, squashing her small assortment of clothes, and turns to gather more of her things. "I can afford to pay off the doctor who treated Sula and still have enough for the four of us to live comfortably. I could finally settle down and be a writer."

She does not miss the slightly crestfallen expression on Maren's face. "Will you?"

"I don't know." Linnea gathers the writing materials on her desk, delicately placing the ink bottle and her box of pens, as well as a thin stack of paper, at the top of her suitcase. "On one hand, your library is truly impressive, and I would miss it greatly. On another, working as the estate librarian has made my eyes and back sore; if I have to shelve another stack of books, I will kill somebody." She sighs. "But I have the next week and a half to decide."

"It'd be most unfortunate if you didn't at least visit."

Linnea closes her suitcase and sits on it in an attempt to wedge it closed. "If I visited, I'm sure the rest of the staff here would be plotting to murder me. You're the only one in the entire estate who can remotely tolerate me."

Maren sits down next to her on the suitcase and the thing creaks. "I wouldn't use the word 'tolerate'." She shifts closer, hand brushing Linnea's. "Perhaps 'adore' would be more appropriate."

Thankfully, her door is closed and their conversation will not be heard by any staff members walking along the corridor outside. Linnea stands up and buckles her suitcase, brushing dust off her skirt. "If I do not return for work, I will definitely visit. The library here is honestly too good to be away from for long."

"That's why you'd visit?" Maren stands up as well, and takes Linnea's hand. She laces their fingers together, pressing her thumb to Linnea's swift pulse. "Just to read books? Not to visit your friend?"

Her friend. Not her lover, for the world is not kind to two ladies in love. Linnea squeezes Maren's hand. "All right, I'd visit to see my friend as well.

Shoes click in the corridor outside. Maren's personal maid calls for her. She will be at the door soon, to sweep her away from Linnea and place her firmly back into her hectic schedule. 

She's closer now. Maren throws one furtive glance at the door, pulls Linnea close and kisses her.

It is quick, nothing more than a quick brushing of lips with the ever-present fear that they will be caught. Maren's lips taste of the tea she had with her breakfast, and as she pulls away, Linnea finds herself yearning for another kiss.

The maid is only a few seconds away. Maren traces Linnea's lips with her thumb, and says reverently, "I hope I'll see you soon...

"My dearest friend."


End file.
